


Piece By Piece

by septemberprudence



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2015-07-07
Packaged: 2018-04-08 05:14:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4292058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/septemberprudence/pseuds/septemberprudence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jos visits Carlos before a race. See the warning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Piece By Piece

Carlos always liked to grab at least a few minutes alone on race day. It wasn't easy, what with interviews and the drivers' parade and what seemed like every last person wanting a piece of you, but he usually managed it. Just some time to relax, think about the race, get his head in the right space. When he was younger, all he dreamed about was the challenge of driving, but now he was here in Formula 1, he had found that the driving was often the simplest part of his job. It was everything else that was complicated: media, sponsors, fans, the whole circus. He loved it, but sometimes he just wanted a chance to slow down, catch his breath.

Today he'd managed to steal a whole, blissful half hour by himself in his change room, and was sprawled out on the massage table, headphones blaring his favorite song. Though the air conditioning meant it was cool in here, the temperature outside was scorching, so he'd temporarily stripped down to his fireproof underwear, loving the feeling of being out of his stifling race suit.

He was nodding along to the beat, not paying any attention to his surroundings, when suddenly something in his peripheral vision startled him. Not just something, but _someone_. He jumped, sitting up quickly, because there was a guy in the room, standing there, watching him. And what the _fuck_ , Carlos thought, because it wasn't just anyone, it was, weirdly enough, Max's dad. _Jos_ , the guy always said to call him, but Carlos always felt kind of uncomfortable about that.

But here he was, staring at Carlos, leaning back against the closed door like he'd been there a while. There was a thin sheen of sweat on his skin and his face was flushed red. The heat, Carlos supposed. 

"Sorry," Jos said. He smiled genially, though Carlos noted his eyes were anything but friendly.

Carlos took off his headphones, feeling awkward, but what was he supposed to do? He couldn't be rude to the man, he was practically part of the team. "Hi," said Carlos, trying sound less irritated than he felt. "Everything okay?"

"Of course," Jos said. "Sorry to interrupt, I just wanted to talk to you for a minute."

"Oh," Carlos replied. "Um, okay then."

Jos seemed to take that as permission, and walked over, sitting down next to Carlos on the massage table. He was balanced right on the edge, legs stretched out in front of him, hands either side of his body, so close that Carlos could feel warmth radiating off him. His thighs were solid inside his jeans, the bulk of him vaguely intimidating. 

But Carlos resisted the urge to shift away, waiting to see what the man would say. 

Jos gave him a long, studied look, then said, "You've been a good friend to Max, and I want you to know I appreciate that."

"Max is a good guy," Carlos said, certain that wasn't what this was really about. "It's not a problem." And it wasn't, because Carlos got on well with Max. He knew Max was incredibly ambitious, but Carlos was no less so. For now, at least, they were equals, both with as much chance as the other to do well, and that was all Carlos could ask.

"I'm happy to hear you feel that way," Jos replied. "But the thing is, that you've qualified ahead of him today, yeah?"

"Yes." Carlos had a bad feeling he knew exactly where this was going.

"And yet I'm pretty sure that Max has better race pace than you, doesn't he?" The man's tone was casual, almost jovial, but there was an underlying impatience to his words, and Carlos suddenly sat up a little straighter, wary and on guard.

"I don't think we'll know that till the race," he stated firmly.

"Come on," Jos cajoled, laughing quickly. "Everyone can see it, it's nothing to be ashamed of." He patted Carlos' knee in a casual, almost fatherly way, but when he was done, he didn't remove his hand.

"What exactly are you asking?" Carlos narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "Are you telling me I should move over for Max? Because I won't do that."

Jos laughed once more, this time longer and more loudly. "Of course not," he scoffed, as if the very idea was ridiculous. "I would never ask a driver to move over." He was still smiling, his face now so close to Carlos' that he could smell him, the sweat on his skin. "All I'm saying," Jos continued, "is that if Max is faster during the race, it would be better if you didn't get in his way."

"Better for who?" Carlos asked.

Jos' smile was now a fixed, stiff mask, as he said, "Better for everyone."

Carlos slowly shook his head. "I'm sorry, but I don't think I agree."

"Well," Jos replied, all traces of warmth now gone from his voice, "then I think we have a problem, don't we?" His hand remained on Carlos' knee, and he now shifted it upwards until it was resting on Carlos' thigh, simply sitting there.

"You like that?" he asked, and Carlos was so taken aback he didn't know what to say. But Jos didn't seem to need an answer. "Of course you do," he said with a sneer. He raised his hand, and for a split second Carlos thought the man was actually going to hit him, but instead he gripped Carlos' chin with vice-like fingers, turning his head to face him. And then he leaned in, pressing his mouth firmly against Carlos'.

Carlos froze in shock, the whole world slowing down as a cold, icy dread ran over him. He knew he should back away, shove this fucking thug of a man off him, but what was happening was so surreal it was as if his brain couldn't even begin to process it, recognize it as reality.

His first reaction was to gasp, and Jos immediately took the opportunity to force his tongue past Carlos' lips, huge and aggressive inside his mouth, making him start to gag. The physical response was enough to bring Carlos back into the moment, and he pushed Jos away with as much strength as he could muster, jumping up off the massage table and stepping back.

"What the hell are you doing?" he hissed out. There were people around outside, he knew, and the last thing he wanted was to bring anyone in here, make a scene.

Jos smirked at him, taking a step towards him. "You fucking love it, don't tell me you don't."

Carlos moved sideways, out of the man's reach. "I think you should leave." He walked towards the door, preparing to open it and usher Jos out, but the moment his back was turned he was roughly tackled from behind, slammed up against the wall so hard he was almost winded. Jos grabbed Carlos' arm, wrenching it up his back so far that he could feel his shoulder strain.

Carlos was strong and fit, but Jos was obviously still in reasonable condition, and the bulk he had over Carlos did the rest. Carlos struggled as best he could, but it was to no avail, Jos simply dragging his arm up further behind his back, using his weight to pin Carlos against the wall of the room. Carlos could feel the man's erection pressed up against his ass, the length of it thick and hard.

"You think you're so fucking good, don't you?" Jos spat out, the words seething with hatred and menace. "But you're not, you're nothing, and you need to learn that."

He shoved his free hand down the front of Carlos' underwear, taking hold of his half-hard cock with a knowing, derisive chuckle. Carlos struggled against him once again, knowing it was just the adrenaline, not arousal, causing such a response, but it was humiliating nonetheless. "You're just some cheap whore, aren't you?" Jos murmured as he pulled on Carlos' cock, his fist around it rough and tight. "Max told me you were a fucking slut."

Carlos tensed even further, a blush spreading over his face despite himself. Had Max said that? They'd fooled around a few times, but it hadn't been any big deal, just something that had happened when they were bored. Carlos couldn't imagine Max even telling his father what they'd done, let alone using words such as those, but then maybe Carlos didn't know his teammate as well as he'd thought.

Jos wrapped his arm around Carlos, spinning him around in a powerful, controlled motion, and then pushing him forwardly violently. He landed face down, bent over the massage table, arm still held tight behind him in a unrelenting grip. Carlos kicked his legs back ineffectually as his underwear was pulled down past his thighs. There was the sound of a belt being unbuckled and a zipper unfastening.

_Fuck_ , Carlos thought. This couldn't be happening, it just couldn't. He should shout for someone, he thought, he should call for help, but he knew that no one in the team would want to deal with a situation like this. They wouldn't blame Carlos, not overtly at least, but there was nothing more important than the team being able to work together. Making a fuss wasn't something that was ever welcomed, whatever the situation. 

"No," he said, quietly. "Please don't." He tried to keep the desperation out of his voice, guessing that it would only spur Jos on, but his pleas went unheeded. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Jos lean across to grab a bottle of massage oil that sat on a nearby bench. 

He heard slick noises, his ass clenching tightly at the knowledge that Jos was oiling up his cock, ready to fuck him. Carlos' stomach knotted in fear, sick with it, and bile rose in his mouth as he felt Jos line himself up behind him.

"No," he said again, the word repeating itself in his head, over and over.

"Just relax," Jos snapped impatiently, stroking Carlos' ass, gripping his hip as he pushed inside him with short, sharp thrusts, forcing his way in, violating Carlos in the most shameful, agonizing way imaginable. Carlos tried to take it, simply endure the ordeal, but the pain was excrutiating. He swore to himself he wouldn't give Jos the satisfaction of making a noise, but he instinctively began to cry out. A damp, fleshy hand was quickly clamped over his mouth, silencing him.

"God," Jos muttered, "you're so fucking tight." He began to move in earnest, every single thrust like a knife inside Carlos, who could only lie there, tears streaming down his face, willing it to be over.

"You're good boy, aren't you?" said Jos, speeding up now, going even harder. "Such a good boy you are." He grunted loudly as he came, the sound of it crude and ugly, his come hot in Carlos' ass. 

Carlos swallowed the sob that rose in his throat as Jos pulled out of him. He lay there for a second and then sat up, pulling up his underwear with trembling, unsteady hands. 

He watched silently as Jos buckled his belt, tucking in his shirt and running one hand through his hair like nothing had even happened, as if this was something perfectly normal for him.

Carlos took a breath, trying to keep his voice even. "I won't move over," he said, determined. "I don't care what you do, I'll still race."

Jos looked back at him, face hovering somewhere between a sneer and a smile. "Do whatever you need to," he said, turning away.

The door closed, and Carlos was alone.


End file.
